


through the insidious night

by Werepirechick



Category: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons), Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Animal Death, Body Horror, Cannibalistic Thoughts, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Esteem Issues, Unresolved Romantic Tension, i mean!! he's still kinda human?!, it sure sucks lmao, its just hunting don't worry, its uhhh a little complicated but i'm sure everyone will pick things up as we go, minus the horns and turning to stone, not really but what else do you call mostly turning into a people eating monster??, sort of like a zombie apocalypse except you turn kinda into a troll?? essentially??, tfw you fall in love with your best friend and neither of you actually come out and say it, very non-graphic for the most part
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-07-06 17:27:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15890679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Werepirechick/pseuds/Werepirechick
Summary: “You really could eat right now, you know,” Toby tells him again, after the fire has died down and he’s working along his hare’s crispy carcass.“I know,” Jim says, firmly pushing away the hunger inside him. “I’ll eat later, though. It’s fine.”“I don’t mind-”“I know, Tobes. But I do.”OrTwo kids survive in the aftermath of the apocalypse.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this was a late night ficlet that turned into a legit fic, and ended up drawing vibe inspiration from the [twenty one pilots song My Blood.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=obcCmQYg9bk)
> 
> a second chapter to come (nearly done, i'm fine tuning things), and possibly speaking i'll add more to the universe sometime! i accidentally let myself daydream up a storyline for lovely miss claire, as well as barbara and all the rest. i'm weak for apocalypses, gore-ish things, and transformation type things.
> 
> also: the mutual pining here is way understated. its just a quiet fact of things for them. this au is mostly focused on.... you guessed it, _angst._ also survival type things. mostly hurt/comfort and angst tho. :3c

Sometimes he almost scares himself, how the rush of the hunt sweeps him up and erases any thought in his head. There’s only the stalking, the chase- the creak of his bow as he lines up the shot and looses an arrow.

Hunting… it’s one of the few things that makes him feel so completely alive, now days. Too bad a part of him still tries to flinch from it, even months after they set out.

In the middle of the dense wood, the loudest sounds are the thump of a body hitting the ground and Jim’s ragged breathing. He can smell the blood of the hare in the air, and it makes his mouth water.

He shakes his head, ignoring the desire to pull down his scarf and expose his face. Creeping through the brush, he picks up his prize. A brief listen, cocking his slightly pointed ears for noise… and Jim decides nothing has heard his sprinting or the hare’s brief dying squeals.

Night time is dangerous, even extremely so in certain areas. That’s something they’ve been raised to know and understand explicitly. It’s the easiest time for him to be up and moving, but he’s not the scariest thing that could be stalking these woods tonight. However careful of their journey’s path, avoiding densely populated areas… there’s always a risk.

The arrow comes free with a squelch, tucked back into his quiver along with its brethren. Jim slips his bow over his shoulder and heads off into the forest again; taking care his bare feet make no sound, and making sure the cloth bag he carries the hare in doesn’t leak.

 

-/-

 

He catches another being’s scent as he approaches their camp, following its faint light in the distance, as well as the smell of it. It’s different than an animal’s, and it very nearly tugs on the horrifying instincts Jim has been fighting hard to suppress in himself.

It’s a good thing he caught game tonight. Toby’s other pelts are losing their scent again, exposing his human one underneath. And however worrisome Jim’s own issues sometimes are, he’s the least of Toby’s concerns if his scent gets picked up.

Inexplicably, despite Jim’s steps being unnaturally soundless, Toby glances up from the small fire he’s started. Toby’s face brightens with a smile, and Jim feels himself smile in return.

“Jimbo! Just a hare tonight?” Toby says, standing up. Jim nods and hands over the catch, glancing over at Toby’s haul. From their snares nearby, his friend has brought back what looks like another hare. Its already roasting on the spit, skinned and gutted.

“Aw, I think yours is bigger than mine,” Toby says in mild disappointment, examining the hare as he pulls it out of the bag.

Jim shrugs, and pushes his voice to come out normal sounding. “Must be because he lived longer. Probably because he wasn’t dumb enough to wander into snares.” Jim privately grimaces under his scarf, frustrated that his words still have a somewhat hoarse rasp to them in places, despite his effort.

His friend doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care. “See how dumb you think my hare is when you’re full on them both,” Toby says, waggling a finger.

Jim stops himself before he can say _I’m never full_. The night is going well, he doesn’t want to spoil it like that. Still, the hares will satisfy his cravings for the most part, so it’ll be good enough. It has to be.

Instead he raises an eyebrow and says, “I’m just hoping you haven’t burnt the other one already.”

“Wow, your lack of faith in my cooking abilities stings, right here, right in my heart, Jim. I happen to cook just fine; you’re just the only surviving food snob in the apocalypse.”

“It’s the little things that keep me going,” Jim quips, and laughs when Toby shoves him away.

The hare is skinned and gutted, and Jim takes the collected gore to be buried; so nothing will track the scent of the leftovers. Toby hangs the newer hare from a branch, twisting in the air alongside a small bag that contains cuts of meat from the roasting one.

Jim settles down beside the fire, ignoring the churn of his hungry stomach. Toby’s dinner isn’t actually doing all that badly; just a few spots toastier than others. It almost smells enticing to him, but the fact that it’s nearly cooked through throws him off.

“Did you use the garlic like I showed you?” Jim asks, sniffing suspiciously.

Toby sits on the opposite side of the fire, huffing as he stores his knife back in it’s sheath. “Yep, crushed it and everything.”

“And the hyssop?”

“Yes, Jim.”

“And you brushed it with honey, right-?”

“God, _yes_ , Jim. I did everything you told me to.” Toby gives Jim a fondly exasperated look. “You’re such a food nerd.”

“I thought I was a food snob,” Jim says, smiling under his scarf, though the expression falls away as he mumbles, “and at least _one_ of us should enjoy these properly…”

His friend catches the mumble, frown tugging the corners of his mouth downwards. Toby glances at the skinned hare and extra pieces taken from his own catch.

“Jim… you can eat, too, you know. And take off the scarf.”

Jim shakes his head. “I’m not hungry,” he lies blatantly. He’s always hungry. Always. “And- I can’t. Someone might see.”

“Oh my god- Jim, _who_ ’ _s_ gonna see out here?” Toby snaps, waving his hand at the dense forest surrounding their camp. “There’s literally no one for miles around here. That’s why we _came_ this way. You don’t have to hide out here.”

Jim stubbornly doesn’t take off his scarf. His teeth grind against each other as he clenches his jaw.

Jim stands up, grabbing his bow and arrows as he goes. “I’ll check the perimeter, Tobes. Enjoy your dinner.”

“ _Jim,_ c’mon,” Toby calls after him, disheartened and frustrated. Jim stops, if only because of everything Toby’s done for him.

“Look… I know it sucks,” Toby starts again, sounding tired, “but I honest to god do not mind, and _haven’t_ ever minded. I told you upfront it didn’t matter what happened; I was gonna be with you all the way. Your eating habits included. So, please… at least sit back down? You don’t have to take off the scarf if you really don’t want to.”

Jim stands with his back to the fire and Toby a moment longer, watching his elongated shadow on the ground waver and shift. Then, he rubs the back of his head, sighing. Jim returns to his spot by the fire, sitting down as Toby gives him a grateful expression.

A beat later, after debating internally, Jim tugs down his scarf. It exposes the edges of the long bite scar that stretches from his shoulder to his throat, as well as the sharp white points of his upwards jutting teeth.

He gives Toby a weak, fangy smile. The discomfort of showing his deformities is overcast by the sunny expression he gets in return.

 

-/-

 

“You really could eat right now, you know,” Toby tells him again, after the fire has died down and he’s working along his hare’s crispy carcass.

“I know,” Jim says, firmly pushing away the hunger inside him. “I’ll eat later, though. It’s fine.”

“I don’t mind-”

“I know, Tobes. But I do.”

Toby gives him a saddened look at that. It’s the same one he gives whenever Jim covers his face or roughly lops off the tips of his hardened nails. The ears he can just hide with shaggy hair; the fangs and claws, though? And the mottled patches of skin under his clothes? Easy way to get himself shot, should a human see him.

Jim should have made Toby stay, when their old compound threw him out. He should have shoved his best friend back behind the safety of the fences and gone it alone. But, the thought of leaving behind the only other person he cared about, the idea of separating the two of them after spending practically their _whole_ _lives_ together and never seeing Toby again-

The sharp stab of emotion Jim feels hurts as much as the hunger sometimes does. Maybe even worse.

It’s easy and selfish to let Toby stay.

Except… right now, as Jim scrunches his bare feet in the dirt and watches his thick nails leave drag marks. Preparing to talk about one of his least favorite things in the entire world. It’s necessary to Toby’s survival though, so…

“Hey, Toby?”

His friend looks up from the hare he’s cutting pieces off of. “Yeah, Jim?”

Jim swallows, not letting his senses feed the tantalizing human scent to him any more than he can help it. “You… gotta change your pelts again. I. Um, I could smell you, a fair distance from camp.”

Toby blanches slightly. “Oh shit, really? Dude, you should’ve led with that!” He presses the butt of his knife to his temple, grimacing deeply. “Man, it takes a stupid amount of time to cure them, too. This is gonna eat up our travel time like crazy if we want it done right. Plus, we’ll have to hunt enough small game to begin with, since we’ve seen like, all of one deer the past four days…”

“Sorry,” Jim says, hunching up and tucking most of his chin into his scarf. “I should’ve noticed sooner, but, um.”

How to explain that his friend’s scent is somewhere between distractingly edible, and distractingly comforting? Jim winces internally; there’s no good way to explain that whatsoever.

“I’ll just stick really close until they’re done,” Jim suggests, ignoring again the scent of Toby across from him. He hasn’t eaten in hours, its so hard to tune it out. Jim focuses on the raw hare meat instead, waiting still for him. “You can borrow my clothes, too. It should cover your scent, mostly…”

“Ugh, yeah. Thanks,” Toby says, shaking his head. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Jimbo. I’d’ve definitely ended up chow by now.”

Jim, remembering every single argument they’ve had about it, doesn’t voice his truthful response to that: _Or, you’d be safely back in the compound still, and not trekking through a world filled with monsters. Monsters like me._

“Make my job easier by putting out that fire and staying here,” he teases instead, standing up from his comfortable crouch. “I really am going to check the perimeter now, see you in a bit.”

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Toby warns, waving a drumstick at him. “You always, _always_ make rash decisions when I leave you alone.”

“I promise I won’t,” Jim says, rolling his eyes. He grabs the sack of hare meat as he goes, finally giving into the growling, twisting hunger inside him.

“Be safe, Jimbo.”

Jim stops, turning to look over his shoulder. The tone of those words is gentle, and a little scared. Spoken almost like a charm against ill fortune.

They can use all the charms they can get, in this world.

“Be safe, Tobes,” Jim returns, then tugging his scarf up and slipping into the dark of the night. The warmth of the fire and Toby’s company leaves him as he does, until there’s nothing but the cool of darkness wrapped around him.

Its only then, as Jim stalks their established perimeter for signs of threat, that he pulls back down his scarf and bites into a piece of raw meat. The frenzy it wants to incite in him eats at the edges of his mind, and Jim forces himself to consume the first sliver of flesh slowly.

Its after the third one his will breaks, and he has to crouch and shove the viscera into his mouth fast as he can. His sharpened teeth make short work of the meal, his rapid breaths gusting past their diamond-head points as his hunger gnaws at his insides.

All too soon, the bag is empty, and Jim is left with barely sated starvation once more. He hunches on the forest floor a few minutes longer, shuddering as he wrestles with his instincts and hunger at the same time. The gore stuck in his teeth only serves to make him hungry all over again, and a tiny, terrible, inhuman voice in the back of his head urges Jim to go back the way he came.

There’s bigger prey, there. Better prey. Filling, nutritious. He’d be sated, if he hunted that prey. The hunger would finally _stop._

Jim’s fingers twist in the dirt, a growl working its way out of his throat- raspy and guttural as his voice wants to be, even when he’s forcing it otherwise. He focuses on the warmth of _Toby_ , of their friendship, of all the things they’ve struggled through and come out the other side of, still together, still fighting on.

It takes a long, horrible moment- it always does- but the painful snarl of hunger inside Jim abates to a dull twist again. He tucks his head against his knees as it does, breathing out a ragged sigh of relief.

He stays in his miserable little ball a bit longer, breathing in and out and wishing raw meat would still make him sick.

 

-/-

 

A short while later, Jim passes through the camp again. Toby is curled up in his sleeping bag under their lean-to, and the fire is extinguished. Jim sniffs on reflex, and finds Toby’s scent less noticeable.

His friend is wearing one of Jim’s coats, the hood up and over his auburn hair. Jim sprouted an extra foot of height since they left the compound, so his coat easily covers Toby’s whole body. It’s smell (which is Jim’s) is drowning out most of Toby’s, which is… very good. Satisfying in a way.

Jim rubs the back of his head, turning away from Toby’s sleeping form and quietly reprimanding himself for being weird about a _coat._

He takes the skinned hare with him as he goes out again; using his need for less sleep than a normal human to his advantage. His night vision and endurance make him the ideal watchman, and the privacy to eat… that’s a bonus.

The second part of his meal goes much the same way as the first part did. Except this time, there’s bones to snap between his teeth.

 

-/-

 

Jim returns only after he’s satisfied there’s _definitely_ nothing around here to kill them, and he’s consumed his meal down to the last tendon and rib. His stomach isn’t full (it’s never full), but it’s enough to tide him over until his next hunt.

Jim sets his bow and arrows within easy reach of his sleeping place; keeping only the large bowie knife strapped to his belt. He scrapes dirt off the tough soles of his feet best he can, and then wiggles into his sleeping bag beside Toby.

His friend mutters sleepily, but doesn’t wake fully as Jim settles in. Or, Jim thinks Toby hasn’t woken fully, but is proven wrong when he takes too long debating silently whether or not to get closer.

“ _Jim,”_ Toby complains in a whisper. He reaches out of his bag and tugs on the lip of Jim’s. “Look, you wanna cuddle or not. ‘m cold anyway.”

Jim can see Toby’s face perfectly in the dark, and thus can see the faintly annoyed look his friend is giving him. Maybe for waking him up, maybe for once again waffling on indulging in the habit they fell into sometime after leaving the compound.

…Jim does want to cuddle.

He shuffles his sleeping bag closer, tucking himself right up against Toby’s. Toby turns over, taking the part of the little spoon; the most comfortable position for them, since Jim is so much taller. Being near his friend’s solid weight is- calming. Grounding. They’ve been alone out here for so long, it’s not until they come into contact with each other that Jim notices he might be a little touch starved.

Toby is, too, evident in that he’s never once said no to a nighttime cuddle. Not even in the first weeks after they left the compound, when Jim was still struggling through his spreading infection and trying not to lose himself in it.

Jim wonders if Toby really would have kept his promise, if the infection had taken Jim completely. He thinks about it still, if his friend could really pull the trigger of the gun Jim’s entrusted him with.

Toby’s is the only human for miles. He’s the first person Jim would go for if the infection resurged and broke his will. Jim really, really hopes Toby would pull the trigger if that happened.

He also really hopes Toby won’t ever have to.

Jim pushes those thoughts from his mind, putting his forehead against the back of Toby’s skull. With food in his stomach and the coat smothering Toby’s scent of humanity, Jim can relax and just enjoy the closeness.

The quiet noise of the nighttime forest serenades him as he falls asleep.

 

-/-

 

“I miss TV. Do you remember TV?”

Jim pauses, lowering his bow. His friend sits on a stump nearby, chin on his palms.

Jim considers the question. “Yeah… I mean, mostly. We have movies still, and that’s the same, right?”

Toby shakes his head vehemently. “No, no there were _thousands_ of movies on real TV, all the time.”

Jim wrinkles his nose. “Thousands? I dunno about that. And we’re the same age, Tobes, how are you remembering more of this than me?”

“I watched a lot of it when I was little,” Toby explains with a shrug. “What’d you do?”

Jim smirks. “I read books in my mom’s office after school, mostly.”

“Wow, _boring_. Didn’t they have computers in hospitals? You could’ve watched something on there, I think.”

“Nope. It was all just work stuff.” Jim thinks for a moment, and then adds, “But she did let me play with this art thingy on her computer, sometimes. That was fun.”

“You might as well have been training for all this,” Toby says disparagingly, referencing the general ‘dark ages’ state of their world. They have only a handful of televisions here in the compound, and the only people allowed to have computers are adults with special jobs. Practically everything else is as low-tech as it can be, to save on power usage from the generators.

Jim rolls his eyes, and nocks his arrow again. It’s only been a week since the adults started letting him use real weapons, not just kitchen knives when it’s his rotation for cooking duty. He wants to get good and _fast_ , so he can help support the compound. Keep his mom and Toby safe, too.

Jim bites his tongue in concentration, and lets the arrow fly. It hits the intended target for the most part, but remains slightly off center on the post. Jim sighs, lowering his bow. His arms ache fiercely and he’s got blisters on his palms, and he’s _still_ not getting a perfect shot like he wants to.

Toby whistles appreciatively. “ _Whoa,_ and that’s just one week of practice, dude. You’re gonna be awesome when you’re older.”

“Really? You think?” Jim asks, mood brightening.

“Totally,” Toby affirms, smiling encouragingly. “Now step aside, Jimbo. I’m gonna try splitting your arrow in half with mine.”

Jim snorts, moving out of the way. “Good luck, Tobes. Not even our teachers can do that.”

“That’s just because they’re not trying hard enough,” Toby quips, lining up his shot. As he looses his arrow, the thunk it makes into the wood echoes through the air.

Abruptly, the sunny scene of their shooting grounds falls away, and Jim doubles over with a cry of agony. He’s on his knees, twice the size of their childhood selves and clutching his stomach. It hurts, it hurts so very much. He startles back as an arrow hits the ground in front of him, missing its mark by inches.

Jim stumbles to his feet, still painfully wracked by hunger. Its making him pant unevenly, drool collecting on his lips. He’s _starving,_ and everyone is shouting at him, and the rain falling from the sky is only serving to heighten the scents of all the humans advancing towards him.

They smell so good, alive and warm and- he shakes his head, the swelled scar tissue on his shoulder and neck pulsing in time with the waves of hunger. Jim’s vision is blurry, thick with tears and feverish haze.

It hurts. He’s so hungry. Why is everyone yelling at him? Why are there guns and arrows and knives pointed at him? He didn’t do anything. He’s just hungry. He’s not doing anything wrong, he’s just _hungry-_

A shape blocks the flashlights aimed on him, their desperate voice breaking through the shouts.

“ _We’ll leave! We’re going, look- don’t shoot, okay? He didn’t hurt anyone, and we’re- we’re going right now. Don’t shoot. Don’t… don’t shoot, please.”_

The figure turns and reaches out at him- Jim recoils sharply, a sound of terror escaping him as fear, shame, and _hunger_ clash angrily in his skull.

“ _Jim! Jim, it’s me! It’s just Tobes, it’s okay. We’re gonna be okay.”_

It’s so hard to focus. There are so many lights in his eyes, so many people shouting- a hollow, agonizing hunger tearing up his insides and forcing sense out of his mind. It’d be so easy, to just let go. Make it stop. Make the hunger pains _stop._

“ _C’mon, Jim. Take my hand. We’re getting out of here.”_

Jim tastes the scent of humans on his tongue, stifling his senses its so thick- and grabs the wrist of the hand outstretched to him. Toby stiffens, just for a moment, and the hunger in Jim _roars._

A rattling snarl escapes him, though it turns into a whining cry at the end. Toby doesn’t pull himself out of Jim’s vice grip.

Jim lets himself be dragged away from the compound, steps dizzy and clumsy as the infection invades his body. The rain comes down in torrents, soaking them both to the bone, and it’s all he can do to keep track of the hand holding onto his.

He’s starving, he’s _dying_ , Jim feels his body creaking and breaking down. He’s going to starve to death, right here, right now, jaw aching and bite scar throbbing. Or he’s going to snap and finally forget himself, the hunger consuming him and meaning to anything slipping away-

_“Jim?”_

They’ve stopped. They’re inside, now. He doesn’t even know how long they’ve been running, or how long since they came to a stop. The storm outside pounds at the roof of the torn up building they’re in, and even in the gloom, Jim can make out the pale face of the person in front of him. The one still holding his hand.

Toby has a backpack and a thick coat on, and his hair is limply wet. Jim barely hears him talking, busy with the way human scent is invading his senses again, thick on his tongue, tantalizing to twisting hunger in his stomach, right there, prey is _right there,_ already in his grasp and-

“ _Jim- Jim, look at me, buddy. I know you can do this. Just- hold on while I get out the stuff I swiped from the kitchen. Let go of me, Jim.”_

The weight in Jim’s hand slips away. He blinks, swaying as his fever pulses in his skull. Why did he let Toby go? Why, when even just a little bite, barely a mouthful, it would- it’d _stop_ the hunger, he _knows_ it would-

Jim snaps back to his senses, just as a crack of lightning goes across the sky outside. All at once, his self-control returns and he stumbles back from Toby quick as he can. Jim keeps going until he hits a wall with his back, sinking down and clutching at his skull.

Horror and disgust roils in his skin, agony of a new sort forcing fresh tears into his eyes. It hurts, he’s so hungry, but- he can’t, he can’t he can’t he _can’t._

_“Jim… Jim, c’mon, look at me. I got meat right here. It’s gonna be okay, you just- you just have to fight it. I know you can. Here, you… you can eat this, now. You’ll feel better if you eat it.”_

Red flesh moves through his line of vision, and Jim can’t stop himself before he snatches it up. The meat is cold in his hands and colder in his mouth, and it slides down his throat like a balm to his fever. Toby crouches in front of him through the whole process, keeping silent until Jim raises his head again.

Jim wipes his mouth, panting as hunger gnaws at him. Raw juices are on his mouth and hands, and he has to force himself not to lick at them. He knows he looks like a horror show, he _knows_ he’s acting like- like a monster, but…

Jim holds out a hand, pleading.

“ _More,”_ he rasps, arm shaking.

Toby only managed to steal seven steaks from the kitchen, before he had to run out and save Jim from the mob. They go down as quick as the first, and they fill some of the void that’s tearing open inside Jim, but it’s not enough, he’s still hungry and he’s scared it’ll _never_ be enough-

Toby still hugs him tight when he’s done, trembling just as badly as Jim is as the rain’s chill settles into their bones. Jim’s fingers claw at his friend’s coat, and he sobs.

 

-/-

 

“Hey, Jim. Hey, wake up. No nightmares tonight, dude. Wake up.”

A hand on his face, gentle but firm as tears are wiped away.

“You’re gonna be alright, Jimbo. Just let it go. We’re okay, we’re okay…”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what's up yall, its your nonlocal enby.... back at it again with that homegrown angst and pining.
> 
> oh how i've missed writing for this story. i had what i thought was majority of the story done, but then the plot bug bit me and a buncha new paragraphs shoved their way in and delayed this hella badly.
> 
> cest la vie, have some post-apoc not bfs once again.

On the occasion, there are good things in their lives.

Like the two of them, wandering as they are through the long stretches of old farmlands, stumbling across an orchard. Rows and rows of trees, heavy with fruit, utterly untouched by humans for who knows how long. There are new saplings growing around the formerly perfectly planted trees; on the path to turning the orchard back into wilderness.

It’s been ages since either of them had real fruit. Berries and forest plants, yes, but nothing like this. Toby steps up to the nearest tree, reaching for a peach with an amazed expression. Jim feels the same wonderment on his own face; the fruit smells sweet and _enticing._ His new diet is dominated by meat, and he can’t keep down more than half of the vegetation he’s tried to eat.

Jim tugs down his scarf, too excited to feel self-conscious right now. The soft fuzz of the ripe peach in his hand, the feeling of juice slipping down his chin as he bites into it- every aspect of the experience is sweeter than he could ever have imagined. And- and it doesn’t affect the hunger inside him. It doesn’t trigger him into a frenzy.

Jim swallows his bite, turning towards his friend. “Toby-”

Toby turns, mumbling a question around a peach he’s got shoved into his mouth.

It takes Jim a couple minutes to stop laughing. It’s not even that funny- just that Toby’s expression _and_ the peach combined really got him. The sun is hot, they’re going to be more than full by the time they leave this place, and it’s just. So good. Jim’s sides ache and Toby is rolling his eyes, but he’s laughing, too.

They’re all alone in the world, making do with what they can, where they can. Humans would kill Jim on sight. They might kill Toby just for good measure. There’s a race of super predators that stalks the night, twice as vicious as Jim and without any compulsion to hold back their bloodlust driven hunger. There isn’t a single person out there who would look out for them, except for them.

Those are the facts of their lives.

Those facts don’t feel quite so horrible, here in a sunny orchard.

They wander through the trees, picking peaches and eating them as they go. As many as they can fit are put into a sack, and they’ll eat every one of them later, even if some are bruised. Birds are startled out of the trees as they laugh and joke, flicking peach pits at each other. The thick branches create tunnels of shade for them to walk under, providing some relief to Jim’s sensitive eyes.

It’s a beautiful day, and this is a beautiful, peaceful place. A part of Jim is tempted to suggest they linger here a few weeks; the woods nearby had good hunting, and it’s only a few hours trek back towards a streambed they passed. It’d almost be easy, comfortable living.

Jim is so busy looking around himself, taking in the overwhelming scent of fruit that covers just about everything else, that he doesn’t see where his foot is going to land.

Something crunches underneath it, hollow sounding. Jim feels the dry texture of it, how it’s a little powdery. He knows, without looking, it’s not just dry wood.

He looks down.

A portion of white bone peeks out from the thick grass. Jim lifts his foot, bending curiously. He picks up a shard of the bone he’s stepped on, turning it around in his hand.  He spots another shard poking out from the grass as he does. And then another, and another, and another…

Jim slowly goes cold, realizing the tree they’re nearest to is completely surrounded by bone fragments.

“Uh… Jim?” Toby asks, voice scared. Jim looks to his friend, and sees what Toby is holding.

Toby is holding the front most part of a human skull.

The same time as Jim is opening his mouth to speak, a soft shuffle comes from the tree above. Freezing, Jim looks upwards.

Curled up in the thick branches of the peach tree, protected from the hot sun by the canopy of wide leaves… is a fully infected human. Its sickly dark skin is nearly the same shade as the bark, the color an off hue red. What little is left of its clothes clings to its waist and legs, and deep scars cover its whole upper torso. Signs that no matter what’s come at it, _it_ is the one who walked away the victor.

It’s sleeping, like all infected do during the day. Its goring fangs jut upwards from its jaw, and around them are another dozen teeth equal in sharpness. Jim’s amplified hearing can hear the faint whistle of its breath, moving in and out of its mouth as it sleeps deeply. One bite and you’re either infected by the virus, or _dinner._

Jim whips his eyes to Toby. His friend looks back at him, having spotted the infected, too. Toby is pale with terror, already holding his club sledgehammer at the ready.

Jim controls his breathing, even as adrenaline rushes through his veins and a surging instinct to protect Toby makes him nearly tremble. He puts a finger to his lips, motioning for _absolute quiet_ , and moves over to Toby with achingly careful steps.

They’ve already made so much noise. Jim’s ability to move unnaturally quiet is the only thing that might save them. Despite Toby making silent refusals about the idea, Jim picks up his friend and starts creeping away from the sleeping infected.

Toby shoots Jim pointed glares about being carried like so, but Jim doesn’t see any other way they’ll get out of this unscathed. Toby just- can’t move as quietly. It’s not a remark on his skills, but on the fact that… infected are just _designed_ to stalk without a sound. _Jim_ is designed to stalk without a sound.

And, he’s more than strong enough to carry his friend. Toby is a relatively heavyset person, but to the inhuman strength Jim has acquired in past months, he weighs hardly anything at all.

One of Toby’s hands clenches in Jim’s jacket, and the other clutches his sledgehammer. Jim forsakes the comfort of having his knife drawn in exchange for getting them to safety.

The orchard no longer seems so peaceful and sweet, knowing now that it’s a baited graveyard.

 

-/-

 

“It must have known,” Jim says later, once they’ve walked the rest of the entire day. Getting as far from the infected as they could. He runs his knife against its sharpener, feeling wound up and tense. “Travellers- they must have gotten distracted by the fruit, like we did. It made the place into its hunting grounds… because it was smart enough to know humans could be baited by the fruit trees.”

“That’s _scary_ smart,” Toby says, shivering. He hasn’t let go of his sledgehammer in hours, shifting it back and forth between his hands. “They’re not usually that smart… right?”

“No, or… they’re not supposed to be,” Jim says grimly. He can see the freshly sharpened edge of his blade in the dark, but it doesn’t feel like enough of a protection. Not now that they’ve come so close to potential death.

“At least we still have the peaches,” Toby says, taking one out of the sack. They’d already been tied to his backpack when they left, so they weren’t left behind in their escape. Toby hands Jim one, and Jim takes it gratefully.

He can’t hunt tonight. He can’t risk drawing the infected- should it have followed them- with the scent of fresh blood. Jim’s stomach wrenches and aches, but the peaches will tide him over. Hopefully.

He’ll hunt as soon as he feels they’re far enough away. Until then, he’ll just bite his tongue and control the urges.

Toby keeps giving him sympathetic looks. Jim knows that Toby knows. That Jim is in pain, even if he _should_ feel like he’s full. But, dried meats and fresh fruits can’t do it for him. Meals have to be recently killed game, or it won’t have the same effect.

Living another night is more important than feeling full, though. Jim is always hungry. He can be a little hungrier for one night.

He doesn’t sleep close to Toby, this night, as much as he wants to curl protectively against his friend. Nightmares plague him, images of the infected finding and killing them in their sleep poisoning his dreams- and from the soft, scared mumbles that wake Jim periodically, such fears don’t leave Toby undisturbed, either.

 

-/-

 

Toby gets sick.

It throws a wrench into their solo act, out in the wilderness away from civilization.

The cough rattles in his lungs for days, beading Toby’s brow with sweat as he hacks into his hands. He’s feverish on bad nights, shivering and trying to generate heat Jim can’t provide with his cooler body temperature. They stay in one spot for a full week; risking being found by an infected and praying the illness will abate with rest.

Toby improves only slightly. He needs things that Jim can’t give him, doesn’t have the skills to do. Toby needs a doctor.

Which means they have to find humans. Which means Jim will be in life-threatening danger the entire time they’re around humans, and the humans… could be in life-threatening danger, too. Because of Jim.

“We can’t risk it, Jim,” Toby says stubbornly, even as Jim packs their bags. “Jim- Jim, they will _literally_ kill you if they find out you’re bitten. We’re not going to another compound.”

“I’m not going to just sit here and watch you get sicker, Toby,” Jim says fiercely, nerves frayed after watching the illness sink deeper into Toby for so long. He roughly rolls up his sleeping bag, scowling. “Look, we passed a trade route not two day’s journey from here, last month. We’ll follow it to the nearest compound, get you looked at, and I’ll- I’ll keep a low profile. Or…”

 _I’ll just stay outside,_ he can’t bring himself to say, feeling a kneejerk terror at being separated from his friend. Toby is the only thing in the world Jim has attachment to anymore, besides his mom, but Jim… Jim can’t think about her, most of the time.

He knows that he won’t just be lonely as anything without Toby; their separation… it could affect the tremulous control he’s got on himself. If he has no reason to keep being _himself_ , knowing Toby is too far away to get hurt, safe with other humans, capable enough to be on his own and _better off_ on his own-

That, and Jim doesn’t trust anyone as far as he can throw them- and he can chuck someone pretty far, these days. God only knows who would take advantage of a sick traveller who’s got no backup.

“I don’t wanna get chased by a mob again,” Toby says despairingly, voice rough from his sore throat.

“We won’t,” Jim promises. “Lots of people have scars they don’t wanna show off, right? We’ll just say I have really bad scars on my face and throat, and that’s why I’m covered up and sound… weird.”

Toby looks incredibly dubious of that plan. Jim is only halfway convinced himself.

Still, they go.

It takes them a day and a half to reach the trade route, because Jim bullies Toby into letting him give his friend a piggyback ride most of the way. Jim doesn’t need as much sleep, can go ages before he truly feels tired. And the rest is healthier for Toby, instead of trekking through the overgrown forest would be.

They follow the cracked cement of the trade route, but not by walking along it. They keep it within their sights, but also keep a distance. Bandits and opportunistic infected lurk the road’s length. Each canny enough to survive the other, and taking advantage of the caravans that follow the route.

They successfully avoid _nearly_ all of them.

Thing about predators, natural or unnatural… they can sense weakness. They can smell sickness.

Toby’s scent, even smothered by pelts, even stopping to bathe in every body of clean water they find, reeks of illness. Jim has been ignoring a niggling thought in the back of his head since the start; pushing away the unwanted _knowing_ of Toby’s weakened state. Easy pickings, easy prey.

It’s made him irritable with himself, and riled his protective instincts, too. Jim is caught between the intense desire to take care of his friend, keep him close and see him well, or to… take advantage of Toby’s vulnerability.

Jim controls himself, though. He doesn’t let it get the best of him.

The other infected, however, doesn’t even try resisting.

Jim doesn’t notice it stalking them until it’s too late. He’d been so preoccupied with taking care of Toby, making sure he’s eating enough, he doesn’t hear the faintest of rustling in the foliage until something comes flying out at them.

Jim whirls, catching the swiping claws of the infected. It shrieks in his face, gnashing long fangs and gusting rancid breath. He howls back at it, and throws it with all his strength. He barely hears Toby’s distressed cries as he charges after their attacker, dropping low and brandishing his own fangs, forgetting about his knife and shortened nails.

The infected is a dull yellow, almost orange in places. Its shaggy hair hangs in its face as it moves on all fours, growling and rightening itself from where Jim threw it. He tackles it, snarling, before it can make to dodge.

Claws rake across his skin, not as protected as the fully infected human’s is. Jim roars in pain and twists them, getting the infected’s back to the ground and slamming its head against the earth. It’s stunned, coughing, and he doesn’t relent. Jim is larger than the infected; _he’s_ got it pinned under his weight. He doesn’t have claws- why did he ever cut his claws, _why_ \- but he does have fists. Adrenaline races in him, accompanied by overwhelming instinct to _fight_ , to _win,_ to defend what’s his and _only his-_

He comes back to himself, sometime later. His hands ache, knuckles swelling. Jim licks his lips, exhausted, and tastes a horrible flavor.

Shuddering, he moves to wipe his mouth off on his sleeve, but finds it covered in… blood.

It smells terrible, completely unappetizing. Which… can only mean…

He looks a little to his left from where he’s kneeling, and sees what’s left of the infected. Its skull is more pulp than bone anymore, a puddle of blood that’s seeped into the earth surrounding the body like a horrific halo.

Jim sucks in a sharp breath, only to cough and scramble to get away from the body- its gory scent making him sick from its implications. He feels himself starting to hyperventilate, unable to stop staring at the evidence of what- of what he- he-

A shift of dirt under a shoe catches his attention, eyes snapping towards the sound.

Toby is curled up around himself, pressed tightly to a tree nearby. His eyes are wide from underneath his deep hood.

Jim slowly processes that his friend… saw the whole thing.

His eyes fill with tears, overwhelmed and miserable. Jim curls up on himself, too; a parallel to Toby’s huddling, so close by and yet so far away. Jim feels dirty and awful and so, so-

 _“-sorry,”_ he says, voice cracking around the word as he cries. “I- I’m sorry. I- I didn’t mean to, it was, you were in- we were in danger, and I- I-”

He breaks off, sobbing into his knees. His body is stinging everywhere the infected got its claws into him, his hands feel hotly bruised. Jim wants to lie down somewhere dark and secret and stay there until he finally dies and the earth swallows him up.

At least then, it’d be over.

Jim startles badly as a light hand touches his shoulder, flashing fangs and almost snapping. It’s just Toby, though. It’s… it’s just his friend. Who’s come away from his tree without Jim noticing.

Toby looks pale, and not just from his illness. He looks shaken, and disturbed, and visibly scared.

“Nn, no- Tobes, y-you can’t,” Jim starts to say, whining and shying away. He doesn’t feel safe, _he_ isn’t safe.

“It’s okay,” Toby says, but it’s _not_ , none of this is okay, _nothing_ has been okay since that night Jim and his mom got careless, too comfortable around the compound, going out and not _looking_ for dangers that might be following their scavenging group, not a single one of them actually watching for infected and not a single one of them spotting the giant one stalking them in the gloom of twilight until it was _too late-_

Toby is hugging Jim, warm and solid. The hunger in Jim’s stomach clenches and hurts, sick from what he’s done, sick from the desire to _eat._

Jim catches sight of the infected’s brutalized corpse again and flinches violently, struggling, trying to get _away._ “I-I- I’m sorry, Toby I’m-”

Toby hauls him back in, getting a hand over Jim’s eyes and clutching him tight. “Shh- no, Jim, Jimbo it’s okay, you saved us. You saved us. Don’t- don’t look at it. It’s over. We’re okay. You’re okay.”

Toby holds Jim against his chest, covering his eyes and repeating those things until Jim can stop panicking. It’s so hard, to calm down, to stop shaking all over. Jim’s hands ring with the echo of crushing skull bone, and the air tastes like blood.

 

-/-

 

Jim can’t sleep that night.

He leaves briefly to eat, ravenously tearing into three quails he’s caught and then hardly stopping to skin a rabbit from their snares. He doesn’t go back to camp when he’s done. Jim circles it restlessly, scenting the air, pacing a silent ring around where Toby is sleeping.

He hears his friend shift around over and over in the night, however. It’s not until its closer towards dawn than dusk that Toby falls asleep.

Jim creeps near, listening to the slow breathing of his only companion in the entire world. He stops a few feet away, settling into a crouch and hunching up on himself. The slight wheeze to Toby’s breathing is still persisting, and what happened today… probably did nothing but exacerbate the problem.

Toby turns over in his sleep, rolling to face Jim, who freezes where he is and is prepared to bolt away. But his friend remains asleep, and he slowly relaxes from his momentary fear.

Jim watches Toby sleep, wrestling with the two opposing desires in himself. One is to go about normalcy, get his sleeping bag and lie down at his friend’s back to sleep. The other is to keep away longer, reinforce the self-discipline he broke today when he lost himself in the fight. Jim can’t do that; he just _can’t_ let himself lose control like that. The feeding frenzies- he can tolerate them, so long as no one sees. But that blind rage, the way it’d swallowed him whole like the hunger except _worse-_

That. That he can’t let happen. He needs to get better at suppressing it, not letting the killer reflexes take over like that when he’s been startled and Toby is in danger. The second Jim forgets himself like that, he becomes as much a danger to Toby as whatever’s attacking them.

Toby coughs in his sleep, curling up tighter in his sleeping bag. He’s still so pale, so tired looking. Jim resists a moment longer, and then bends low, crawling up close and hovering near his friend’s face.

This close, he can smell Toby’s human scent. Tonight, for once, Jim breathes it in and feels comfort more than he does hunger.

He catches himself leaning closer, nose nearly brushing against Toby’s. Staring at the bruised circles under his friend’s eyes, visible to Jim even in the dark of night. His heart clenches as he almost puts his forehead to Toby’s.

Then, Jim pulls himself away.

He circles the campsite for roughly another hour, and then curls up to finally lie down in his sleeping bag, settling in it a short distance from Toby’s.

Jim feels cold and lonely the rest of the night.

 

-/-

 

They find a compound some days later, founded near and on a lakeside, teeming with people.

Infected can’t swim, which is something Jim only discovered after almost drowning in a pond. What little of the smattering of civilization here that’s still on land is heavily guarded, fences on all sides. The huts on raised docks and houseboats along with them seem to be where everyone lives, while the shore serves as markets and trade outposts.

Jim can catch the scent of fresh and old fish on the wind, and knows Toby will be well taken care of in such a food and resource wealthy community.

“Are you _positive_ you’ll be alright?” Toby asks again, for the umpteenth time.

“…Yeah, yeah of course,” Jim replies belatedly, ignoring the ache of the oncoming separation in his chest.

He decided, after what happened on the way here… given the extent of how badly he lost control… it’d be safer if he stayed outside the compound. He’ll just have to handle being all on his own out here, even if part of him wants to grab Toby and run the opposite direction of the people just down the incline from them.

The last time they were near a big group of people, Jim nearly got killed.

He still remembers the faces of people he grew up with turning on him like that, furious and afraid.

Toby, though, on his own… will be perfectly fine. He’s just a regular human traveller, looking for medical assistance. No one will suspect there’s an infected outside the walls and fences surrounding the compound, waiting for him to return.

“Promise me you’ll stay close, but not too close, okay?” Toby says empathetically.

“I promise I will,” Jim replies.

“And you’ll- you’ll be careful? Keep away from the roads and- and hunting trails.”

“I will.”

“And- god, Jim, _promise_ me, no matter what, you won’t let anyone see you? I. I’m not gonna be here, to…”

 _To protect you._ The same sentiment Jim is feeling about leaving Toby alone.

“I won’t. I’ll stay safe if… if you do, too.”

They say goodbye reluctantly, hugging one another for a long, long moment. Jim nearly grabs Toby’s hand and pulls him back when they separate finally, to do what he’s not even sure of.

He doesn’t pull Toby back, however. He stands in the shade of a big tree and watches his friend’s back as it disappears into the last bit of woods before the compound.

Every bit of space in Jim’s center is aching, and he twists the fabric of his shirt in his fist over it.

Toby doesn’t come back up the hill. Not later that day, not the day after.

Jim remains alone for so long… he loses track of time, and of pieces of himself.

 

-/-

 

 He’s having a hard time remembering why, beyond the threat of the humans going on the defense, he doesn’t just go down the hill for a more fulfilling meal.

He’s caught a whole deer recently, stripped it down to bone and then broke those bones opens for the marrow. It’s still not enough. His stomach growls, forcing such noises from his throat, stalking the compound below and _wanting_ , but for some reason denying himself.

 _You can’t,_ says a voice in his head. It’s been insistent that he _can’t_ let anyone see him, which he only half understands. Of course he can’t let anyone see him- letting prey see you before you pounce ruins the chances of a quick kill.

He also only somewhat remembers why he keeps coming back to the same spot, almost once a night. Even though it would make sense to just _leave_ , since he can’t go down the hill and end his hunger that way, he continuously ends up next to a specific tree. He recalls vaguely that there’d been a hint of scent here, days ago, that he’d lain down on and savored for as long as he could.

It’s gone now, though, so it’s just irritating that he can’t stop coming back.

And it feels like he’s waiting for something important. Possibly some _one?_

The one whose scent he misses.

He wonders sometimes why he has to miss them, why they left him or why he left them. Why he’s waiting for them to reunite at all. He’s starving, constantly, even with the animals he eats. If he can’t eat the humans here, then he needs to move onto a new hunting ground. One more vulnerable, preferably. Stragglers from caravans, easy to pick off and devour without anyone noticing.

However, before he can finally force himself to break off whatever ties him here, something happens.

He’s sleeping up in the stupid tree he can’t stop returning to, one afternoon when the sun is scorching and his skin feels tender. His stomach is somewhat full, hunger sated for a time, and he’s comfortably lying along a thick branch as the warm wind pushes him into deep slumber.

Not deep enough, however, that he doesn’t hear a soft voice below speak out.

“Jim?”

His eyes snap open, claws gripping the bark of his branch and pointed ears flicking up. He looks down, and right there is a _human_ , just below his sleeping place.

The human is wandering in a circle, looking this way and that. Coppery brown hair shines in the sunlight, and he catches sight of freckles along what little exposed skin the human has.

His mouth waters. He lifts himself up, creeping along the branches of his tree, getting into position to jump down and tear out the human’s throat.

The little voice said not to let himself be seen, or to go down the hill. Well. This human came _up_ the hill, and won’t see him at all before he kills it. He’s allowed to have this one; it practically walked right into his claws.

“Jim, buddy? Jimbo? Jiiim…?” calls the human below, sounding a little frantic. He cocks his head, wondering if the human is calling out to another, which would mean _more_ meat to his meal…

“Where could he have gone? He promised he’d stay near here…” The human starts pacing again, poking around in bushes. He climbs onto the lowest of the large branches, bracing his weight and coiling up to jump down.

At the last second, right before he’s launched himself forwards, the human looks upwards, right. At. Him.

The human’s mouth drops open, and it makes a short cry of shock. He bares his teeth, snarling loudly at the lost chance at catching the human unaware, and jumps down with his forelimbs outstretched, claws ready to rend the human’s flesh and _finally_ sate his all-consuming, eternally painful _hunger-_

The human stumbles out of the way, somehow, and he has to roll into a landing, getting up again and growling deep in his throat, fangs almost dripping with how hungry he is.

The human doesn’t have a weapon out, which seems wrong to him for some reason. It should be armed, even though that would be counterproductive to him killing it.

“Jim,” says the human, looking him right in the eye and holding out empty hands. “Jim, it’s me. It’s Tobes. I’m back. N-now… now you come back to me, okay?”

He eyes the human, growling at the strange behavior, growling because something in his chest is twisting, something that’s hurt for so many days now he stopped noticing, something that- that-

That knows this human.

Toby.

_Toby._

Jim comes back to himself with a long, slow reel of horror. He backs up against the tree that’s kept him here, kept him waiting until Toby came back. Jim feels himself shaking all over, the sudden return of his personhood making his head swirl and a keen escape his mouth.

He clutches the sides of his head, and feels horrible for how easy it’d been to just- slip away, bit by bit, in the time it’d taken for Toby to heal. And then he’d nearly _attacked Toby_ -

“Shit, shit, Jim, hey, it’s okay. Claws off the skin, alright? You didn’t hurt me, I’m okay. I’m proud of you, dude. I’m- I’m really proud of you. You hung in there, I- I didn’t hear a single thing about an attack the whole time I was down there. You did great, Jimbo. I swear you did great. C’mere, c’mere, Jim… I’m back, it’s okay, it’s gonna be okay now…”

His friend, braver and stupider than anyone else in the world, has his arms around Jim. Toby shouldn’t have come back, should have stayed with _humans_ who wouldn’t forget about him, wouldn’t look at him and think _prey,_ wouldn’t be so horribly dependant on him just to keep their sanity.

Wouldn’t fall in love with him, like Jim knows he shouldn’t have.

But. Jim is too starved of touch to hold himself back from hugging Toby. He’s still too weak to push away the desperation to have Toby _back_ , and to _keep him_ from now on.

Jim feels both disgustingly guilty, and overwhelmingly grateful that his friend came back to him, and by extension brought Jim back from the edge once again.

“I missed you so, _so_ much, dude,” Toby says, clinging to Jim and fearlessly putting his head on an infected’s shoulder.

“I- I missed you, too,” Jim manages, distracted by his inner turmoil, and the softness of Toby’s freshly trimmed hair against his cheek. He squeezes Toby gently, breathing in his friend’s scent and closing his eyes.

For a minute, Jim pretends he’s not a monster, that the world won’t deny him a chance to have more than this, and that they’re still back home, hanging out between classes and seconds from being called to the next.

That their lives are whole again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *moonwalks out of the room and fades into the void once again*

**Author's Note:**

> [hmu on tumblr to ask about the au or just scream in general about trollhunters](https://chillahead-bridge.tumblr.com/)
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> edit** in case anyone else feels like pointing it out, yes i know that's not how dreams work, no i don't really care. this is fanfiction and i just want to write people eating people.


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